


Meltwater

by luna_plath



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_plath/pseuds/luna_plath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s learned there are better ways for adults to compete</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meltwater

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn’t been beta’d, so if there are any mistakes they’re completely my own.

They aren’t close enough to see the Wall, but knowing it’s just out of range makes him grow quiet. The southward path stretches out long before them, giving him endless hours to think, plan, and remember. Jon’s bristling with impatience but dreading the final result, a silly, boyish part of him already missing the time he still has. 

Travel with the wildlings happens at a leisurely pace compared to what he’s used to with the Watch or at Winterfell, but his rapidly shifting emotions make it drag and slip away from him simultaneously.

Jon finds himself thinking of his siblings—not what they’re doing now, but how things were before he drew on all his bastard anger and left them for good. Mostly he remembers their little bets, the dares to jump into the moat starkers or hide a frog in Jeyne Poole’s needlework. 

He remembers when Arya was first learning to ride; he and Robb would plod along with her for a time, only to tear off into the woods, laughing, daring her to catch them. Arya had only been on ponies back then, but she would push her mount as hard as she could to catch up, always a few leagues behind her older brothers. 

_I’m going to beat you, just wait and see_ , she’d huff.

Whoever reached the stream first would celebrate by leaping off the horse’s back into the fast-moving water while their mounts took long drinks from the shallows. Arya always wanted to make the first splash.

Jon remembers Lady Catelyn being furious when she found out, her cold blue gaze aimed directly at him, saying that they shouldn’t try to endanger a young lady, and that it was certainly not the way to ride. Robb had stood next to him looking just as guilty, but Jon knew her scorn wasn’t meant for her trueborn son.

He and Robb had shared a quick glance, not even a full smile or a laugh, before Arya replied, “I’m no lady!” and ran off to the stables by herself in a pout. By then he and Robb had been in stitches.

Years later, the distinction still holds firm in his mind. There were Lady Catelyns and there were little Aryas. Jon knows which he prefers.

Looking over at Ygritte, he’s tempted to say, _race you to the stream_ , but he’s learned there are better ways for adults to compete. She catches his eye and her smile twists something in him that he thinks will never unbend.

As dusk approaches, they dismount, and instead of being deep-bone tired like he’d expect from a day of riding, Jon feels restless. The slowness of time among the wildlings is just another thing he’s learned, another lesson that will fall into disuse after he leaves, and the thought that he will have to return to the cold predictability and the early risings of the Watch rests uneasily on his mind.

After a quick meal of salted meat and thin ale, Ygritte settles into the curve of his body while he traces the line of her jaw with his lips. Next to him, she is amazingly warm even through all their layers of clothing, and Jon can’t help that he rolls his hips against her hand when she touches him.

They’re lying beneath his cloak; breathless, snared like a creeping vine on a castle wall. 

“Show me what you know,” she whispers, and the competitor in him is itching to roll her body underneath his, to run his hands over her skin and spell out every lesson she’s given him.

Jon sucks on her lower lip and dips his hand between her legs, clinging to her in the hopes that what they have wont dissolve like snow melting into a mountain stream. 

She wraps her legs around him, silencing his moan with a kiss. _Mine_ , Jon thinks, guiding himself inside her. _My wildling girl, my not-a-lady._


End file.
